


Let Them Eat Cake

by Korrigan131



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrigan131/pseuds/Korrigan131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone, even Seb, knows the way to Jenson's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Them Eat Cake

**Author's Note:**

> My very first F1 fic, originally posted over at motorskink.livejournal.com  
> I apologise for the quality of the German - I speak precisely none!

Sebastian swore when the doorbell rang, glancing at the clock and swearing again. Jenson was early. _Verdammt._ And he was running late, very late. The kitchen was a wreck, _he_ was a wreck, and things were decidedly _not_ going to plan. He hovered, trying to figure out how to salvage, well, _anything_ from his plan.  
  
The doorbell rang again. Whatever happened, he couldn’t just leave Jenson standing on the doorstep.  
  
“Ich komme!” he called, before hastily translating himself. “I’m coming!”  
  
Jenson, ever immaculate in a smart shirt, jeans, and his slightly ridiculous sunglasses, was not met by a sight he expected. Sebastian was flushed and flustered, slightly sweaty, his jeans covered in dusty streaks, and there were splashes of something that looked like wet plaster up his arms and in spots on the front of his tshirt.  
  
“…Seb?” asked Jenson, after a pause, pulling his sunglasses down his nose. Apparently Seb had decided to start some hardcore DIY just hours before he was due to arrive.  
  
“Hi Jense…” There was a moment’s pause again.  
  
“Sorry I’m a bit early… Am I interrupting something?”  
  
Sebastian stepped back to let the older man in to the apartment. “No, no, not at all,” he replied, a little too fast, and a little awkwardly, whilst Jenson wondered why the air in the hallway seemed a little thick, and almost sweet… “Well, yes, kind of,” blurted Sebastian. “You’re early, and I’m late, and...” He was cut off by and insistent and rather loud beeping from behind a closed door.  
  
“ _Scheisse_!” Sebastian dashed through the door, Jenson following bemusedly in his wake, before stopping in the doorway and surveying the scene in front of him - the kitchen was a total bombsite, utensils and bowls covered in mixture scattered on every surface, sticky fingerprint-covered books and printouts to rival a pit garage piled in heaps, and the majority of the worktops were covered in a layer of white dust, which Jenson guessed was probably flour. Probably… And that thickness in the air… Sebastian was at the oven, waving away the smoke, swearing in at least three languages, and looking mildly hilarious in oversized oven mitts. Something decidedly darker than it probably should have been clattered onto a cooling rack, and Sebastian stared at it dejectedly.  
  
“That's the first one  when I've got the mixture right..." he said, more to himself that to his audience.  
  
Jenson blinked. “Have you been _baking_?!” he asked, semi-incredulously.  
  
Sebastian looked up. “I missed your birthday,” he shrugged, by way of an explanation. Jenson couldn't help but laugh, his face breaking into that grin that made Sebastian’s insides flip slightly, and despite his disappointment and more than mild embarrassment, the younger man couldn’t stop the smile that twitched at his lips, and the laugh that joined it. “Hey, this cake thing is harder than it looks!” he protested, trying (and failing) to look serious.  
  
“Oh come here, you daft person,” said Jenson, still laughing but genuinely touched, and taking Sebastian into his arms. “You didn’t have to make me a birthday cake, you know.”  
  
“I wanted to,” came the muffled reply from Jenson’s shoulder, as Sebastian’s arms slipped around his waist. “Wanted to surprise you.” Jenson could hear the pout in his voice, and dropped a gentle kiss on the top of Seb’s head. He could taste the flour even there; how had Seb managed that?!  
  
“Anyway,” said Jenson, pulling away and reaching for the backpack he’d left on the island, “it’s probably a good thing, or else I’d have to find someone else to help me eat this…” With a flourish he produced an enormous slab of deliciously indulgent-looking chocolate cake, painstakingly wrapped in clingfilm. “I saved you some birthday cake, to make up for you missing the party...?” he offered, holding the cake out slightly to Sebastian, who was smiling and laughing now, his annoyance at himself forgotten.  
  
He shrugged. “I’m sure I can help…” he replied, trying to feign disinterest.  
  
Jenson just beamed at him. “Great! Now, where do you keep the plates in this _disaster_ zone?!” he teased.  
  
His reply was simply a high-speed teatowel to the head...


End file.
